


find me in the shallows

by Nyxierose



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Ficlet Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2018-06-10 06:57:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 16,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6944428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/pseuds/Nyxierose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of unrelated prompt fills and other short ficlets from my tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. feel the rain

**Author's Note:**

> Ficlet collection because I fail at crossposting from my tumblr (@electricbluebutterflies). Title is from "Shallows" by Daughter.

She wants to make up for lost time, but she’s barely able to keep her head up most days.

Abby is well aware of what survival means now. She wishes she weren’t, wishes things had gone so much differently, but the world is unkind. Where there should’ve been a flourishing civilization, there has only been death and chaos.

Out of that darkness, however, they rebuild.

She drifts away for a while, tries to help but finds she doesn’t have that heart for it, feels herself shut down and doesn’t know how to make it stop. The weight of everything weighs heavy upon her shoulders, worst of all the things she did while she was not in control of herself. (She knows the blame is not hers, but the memories and the guilt still haunt her.) She is too old for this, not enough of a person for the things she has survived, falling apart and shutting herself off because no one can ever, ever get close to this mess.

Least of all the one person who might save her from it.

Avoidance, at least, is something Abby knows well. Even in a much smaller environment than she’s used to, she can easily go days if not without seeing someone she’d like to steer clear of. It’s a little more complicated when she’s supposed to share responsibilities with said person, but years of bureaucratic red tape do have _some_  uses and with a little creative communication and well-timed puppy eyes, she pulls it off. She’s pretty sure she can keep this up for _years_ , and she’s damn well determined to.

(The last thing she needs is _him_  and the way his stubbornness clashes with hers, collides and makes both of them better. She can’t face that yet.)

She hides when she can, stays out too late, makes herself hard to track. She moves what few possessions she has into medical, but keeps her sleep-space in the open air as penance. She blames herself for too much, takes too many risks, stops caring about her own survival.

(She was not enough. She was never enough. Last thing she needs is reminding.)

One morning she wakes up wet in the not-fun way - no, that’s not enough of a word, she is _drenched._ One of the few good things about her current state is that she sleeps like the dead, and apparently she slept right through a rainstorm. It takes her a few moments to process that the rain hasn’t _stopped_  either, and she lies back on the ground and wonders what the odds of death are from this. Probably not in her favor, but-

“What are you doing?”

Four months she’s steered clear of him and it’s all come to a crashing end right now. Abby closes her eyes and chooses to ignore.

“You cannot do this to yourself. Not anymore.”

She growls as she feels his presence drift closer to her. “Go away.”

“Abby-”

“I know what I’m doing, Marcus. I couldn’t save anyone. I deserve this.”

Instead of picking a fight, he leans down and helps her onto her feet. “No you don’t. People need you. _I_  need you.”

“Even after-”

“That wasn’t _you_. It doesn’t count.”

She opens her eyes and sees him for the first time in four months, almost as drenched as she is and looking at her the same way he always does when he’s worried about her. There’s pain in his eyes, and she feels a new rush of self-hate because once again she has caused pain, once again-

“Sleeping in the rain is a good way to get sick,” he murmurs, shaking his head.

“I’ve been doing it for months.”

“Doesn’t make it okay.”

She collapses against him and, for the first time in too long, almost feels okay.

“What took you so long?” she breathes.

“Fear.”

She kisses his cheek and begins again.


	2. realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "the way you said “i love you”… in awe, the first time you realised it".
> 
> Slight variation on 1x11.

About halfway through the access shaft, Marcus realizes a few things about himself - first, that he is at least ten years too old for his current plan and situation to be any good, and second, that he’s in said situation because of literally the only person he’d do this for. He’s not sure which of those realizations is more of a problem.

There’s a chance she’s still alive, okay? There’s a _chance_ , maybe not a good one but gods it’s _something_  and the closer he gets the more hopeful he is. Maybe not in good condition - _definitely_  not in good condition - but _alive_. He has never wanted anything so much, and on some level that scares him.

Ah well. Not like he’ll ever tell her. Abby is… there really aren’t words for her, but he doubts she’ll handle a confession of feelings very well. Even if she is, as is apparently likely, oxygen-deprived and very very cold. (Maybe _especially_  because of those details.)

He breaks through, he sees her, and he runs.

She’s breathing. It’s a start. Not in the best condition, but functional enough to look at him and respond and rest her head on his shoulder and that’s so much more than he hoped for. It hits him for the first time that while he’s spent a significant amount of time antagonizing her over the last decade or so, finding her every weakness and hitting block after block, he actually _likes_  her. He’s been an ass and she’s been an angel, gives as good as she gets but never loses her sense of faith. Even now, he thinks, she hasn’t given up.

They breathe together as one, he wraps his arm around her shoulders and holds her as close as he can without crossing her lines, and for the first time he thinks about kissing her.

It’s not the first time his brain has thought about physical entwinement with the woman currently fluttering her eyelashes against the curve of his neck. The concept of hate-sex is one Marcus is well familiar with, and he’s had enough daydreams to that effect over the years. Forceful, though, never sweet. As rough and fast and hard as she would allow, and he’s pretty sure she’d be able to keep up.

Right now, though, right now he thinks about softness and beautiful things yet to come.

“I love you,” he murmurs, words finally taking shape. She’s not lucid enough to hear him, and they’re still a few months from really having this conversation. But at least he’s admitted it to himself now, and that feels like a beginning.

She makes a soft whimpery sound against his skin, and again he can’t help but wonder.


	3. vulnerabilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "Kabby first sex scene where she's worried about stretch marks and wrinkles and a few grey hairs in her mostly dyed brown hair and he doesn't care because he loves her THAT MUCH."
> 
> Modern AU.

The problem with dry spells is that breaking them unlocks a whole host of insecurities. Abby is currently learning this the hard way.

 

“You okay?” Marcus asks at exactly the right time, in tune with her as ever.

“Not sure,” she replies, taking a step away from him. They’ve both begun to age _well_ , she knows, but she fears her humanity too much. Fears the stretch marks on her abdomen and creeping up towards her breasts, fears the gray hairs she knows are _somewhere_  on her head because in theory she dyes her hair but she can’t be bothered more often than every couple of months. Fears, really, anything that might make her seem less than perfect.

“Did I do something?”

She returns to her previous position in the center of her bedroom and puts two fingers to his lips. “It’s not you. More... me.”

His hand encircles her wrist, pulling her fingers down over his heart. “I want you. Issues and all.”

“And the fact that I might actually look my age is-”

“Not as bad as you think,” he murmurs, kissing her softly.

She’s still hesitant as they slowly undress each other, still waiting for the point where he’ll realize he could do better than her. She hasn’t been with anyone like this in a long time, and she _feels_  it as hands touch bare skin and map her. She wonders, offhandedly, if this will be a first and only sort of encounter.

He touches her reverently. That’s what pulls her out of her panic, the fact that he is as deliberate with undoing her as he is with everything else and yet a sense of awe radiates from him as he unhooks her bra and leans down to kiss the hollow between her breasts. He treats her well, like she is worthy of this, and she almost wonders why she ever hated him. (But even then, she reminds herself, she still wanted to pin him to a wall and see if their tension could lead somewhere. Even then, she knew.)

“What do you need me to do?” he asks, distracting her again. They’re both completely naked now, he hasn’t said a damn thing about her imperfections, and oh she thinks she loves him.

“I don’t care.”

“God, the one time you don’t have feelings-”

“I want you, Marcus. I’m not bothered about more than that.”

They end up on the bed, her on her back and him hovering above her and exploring her core with his fingers for longer than necessary. She’s hot and wet and responsive, grinding against him as he circles her clit, so close and then he pulls away completely and-

“Absolutely sure?”

“Fuck me,” she growls, and for the first time in his life, he actually listens to her.


	4. public(?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "A Hope We Don’t Get Caught Kiss".
> 
> Post-s3.

In theory, they have a few minutes of quiet before their next headache wanders into the war room. In reality, Abby isn’t exactly holding her breath on that one, no matter _what_  her partner thinks or wants to the contrary.

She gets it, she swears she does. After what they’ve been through - a phrase that sounds so damningly cliché and yet only way she can think of to cover the last few months in particular - she understands the sacredness of time and of taking every chance one can. It’s what’s led her to where she currently is, maybe not _public_  about the nature of her relationship with Marcus but open enough that everyone seems to know. And yet she’s always been a private person, and she really did think he was too, and yet-

He darts closer and kisses her, just like she knew damned well he was going to, and she doesn’t have the heart to think about the wide-open door five feet away until they’re both breathless.

“It is completely possible that someone just saw that,” she murmurs, entwining their hands and hoping she’s not blushing _too_  much.

“Is that a problem?”

“For you, I don’t know. For me... I’m not sure _what_  Raven won out of that betting pool, but I’m pretty sure she’s never been happier in her life...”

He leans down and kisses Abby’s cheek, cute and innocent and just close enough to her ear to be unheard. “Do _not_  turn your head.”

“I don’t wanna know?”

“I’m never going to hear the end of this.”

She half-twirls and pulls him into a more passionate kiss. “Have fun explaining that,” she laughs against his lips.


	5. dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "slow-dancing".
> 
> Post-s3.

If there is an excuse to end up in each other’s arms, they will take it.

It’s strange, really - neither of them is usually the physically-affectionate type. But after all they’ve been through, it makes sense for them to get clingy. It makes sense for Marcus to reach for his partner’s hand at seemingly random moments, and it makes sense that Abby spends more nights in his bed - most of them innocently asleep - than in her own. It feels natural, right, good when all of that happens.

It feels completely normal, then, when she asks him to dance with her in the privacy of what is becoming _their_  space.

His face turns an alarming shade of pink at the mere idea. “Why?”

“Because I like dancing,” she counters, one hand on her hip and an expression on her face that makes it damn clear it’ll be easier for him if he just shuts up and gives her what she wants. “And because someone managed to hook up a semi-functional music player and brought it to me as a peace offering today, and twirling around on my own is... not ideal.”

“I’ll step on your feet,” he protests.

“Unlikely. Your reflexes are better than that. I know it’s been years, but... please?”

He really can’t say no to her like this, and he steps forwards and puts his hands on her waist because he at least remembers that part. She pushes him away for a moment, darts over and turns on the device, then wanders back and puts his hands right back where they were.

“Just hold me,” she murmurs, looping her arms around his neck. “That’s all you need to do.”

He complies, and really he’s not sure this counts as dancing at all. Just moving slowly, her face buried in his shoulder, their bodies so so close. Sure, there’s music in the background, but that doesn’t matter at all.

For a few minutes, there’s just him and the woman he loves, and maybe the world isn’t a hellscape after all.


	6. coping mechanisms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "a drunken kiss".

She’s never done things halfway.

At times, it feels like a defect in her soul, this tendency of hers to fling herself completely into whatever her mind is currently set on. Much as she tries to hold herself back at times, Abby is a passionate woman, feels everything so deeply and so much and so often. Most of the time she can mask it, at least, but sometimes...

She’s not completely sure why hiding away with a bottle of god-knows-what seems like a good coping mechanism tonight, but it is and she’s in no mood to question it.

She’s no risk to herself nor to anyone else, she reminds herself. There’s a vague sort of a plan here, and drinking alone in her sleep-space is far from the worst way she could attempt to numb everything. It’s conscious enough, she knows her limits and she knows she won’t be bothered and she knows she’ll probably feel like shit in the morning but it’ll be worth it in exchange for not feeling anything _now_.

At least, if it works. Which it might or might not.

Either her tolerances are a lot better than she thought or this mystery alcohol isn’t as strong as she thought. Regardless of cause, Abby is not feeling numb. If anything, she feels _worse_ , overemotional and getting closer to that bad place of self-hate and-

A knock on her door snaps her out of her wallowing and into full-blown panic. It’s late enough that there’s no sensible reason for anyone to need her, which means that best-case scenario someone’s gushing blood and she’s in no state to help and-

She gets to her feet, the room spinning slightly as she crosses it and opens the door. Yeah, definitely in panic mode now. This is a disaster at best. People are going to talk, she never should’ve thought this was a good idea, her reputation’s already a mess and-

“Are you alright?”

Fan-fucking-tastic, the absolute last person she wants to deal with right now. Or at all ever, honestly. She’s not sure where she stands with Marcus after their latest round of tragedy bingo, but their tentative romantic relationship is solidly on hold and he’s been _avoiding_  her for some reason and-

“What do you want?” she asks, somehow making eye contact.

“We need to talk.”

Even in her current state of mentally foggy and very reactionary, Abby knows that no good thing has ever come from those four words. Especially not here, with their complicated history and how much she just wants to kiss him right now. Yeah. Kissing would be nice, and so she does, mouths meeting for just a moment because she’s not sure of anything anymore and-

“Everything is too much,” she murmurs, collapsing against him. He’s warm and he’s not fighting her and she’s _clingy_ , dammit.

“Shhh.”

He holds her for what feels like a very long time, the both of them leaning in the open doorway, unafraid of who might see. Stranger things have happened in this hallway, and at least they’re both decent and-

“You need to rest,” he murmurs, guiding her towards her bed and helping her lie down.

“Be here in the morning?”

He shakes his head, pressing his lips to her forehead.

“Please? You need to rest too.”

He caves in, lying beside her but barely touching. “I’ll be here.”


	7. timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - “this is probably a bad time, but marry me?”
> 
> Post-s3.

They’re in crisis mode when Marcus has what might be the worst idea of his life, which is (a.) really saying something and (b.) totally unsurprising. There’s nothing like almost dying _again_  to make one seriously reevaluate priorities, and about the moment he’s back on his feet, he realizes a few important things.

Mainly, that he’s been in love with the woman next to him for the better part of a year but hasn’t really done anything about it.

Sure, they’ve managed to turn their relationship into a definite _something_. They haven’t had the convo about labels yet, half because there’s been too much else going on around them and half because neither of them really needs to define what they’ve become, but it’s at least mutually romantic and desired. At least there’s a pattern to it, the way their bodies collide and their lives have begun to shape around each other. Abby is a fierce woman and doesn’t compromise easily - two traits he absolutely loves about her even when they make his head hurt - but she’s become almost soft with him lately.

Again, the number of times the world has almost ended around them might have something to do with it, but-

“Why are you staring at me?” she hisses, eyes flashing with frustration. Screw whatever-the-fuck mutant beastie just tackled him five minutes ago and might’ve been trained to _attack people_ ; the real threat to his survival on this planet is his sorta-girlfriend, and it just makes him love her more.

“This is probably a bad time, but... marry me?”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Out of all of the strange, impulsive, and passively suicidal things Marcus Kane has done in his life, this one might just top everything and he regrets _nothing_.

“No. Not remotely.”

Abby sighs in that way she does when no language she’s ever heard could possibly express how done she is right now. “You are _bleeding_ ,” she hisses. “We are in the middle of... I don’t actually know what the fuck is happening right now, but I just had to shoot whatever that creature was and...”

“You can just say no if you’re that mad at me.”

She rolls her eyes before pulling him down for a kiss. “Your incredibly terrible timing doesn’t change how I feel,” she breathes against his lips. “If we survive the next week, we are going to have the best damn wedding the world has ever seen.”

“So... yes?”

“You’re lucky I love you,” she murmurs, kissing him again. “So, so lucky.”

Damn right he is.


	8. ten more minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "cuddling".
> 
> Post-s3.

Technically, they have a meeting in an hour. At least, Abby is well aware of this as she shifts closer to her lover, burrowing her face against his chest. He’s warm in a way her body appreciates, safe and familiar on this too-early morning, and she’s determined to claim every bit that she can.

“Ten more minutes,” he murmurs, slipping his arm under her waist to pull her closer. “Then we have to-”

“I know,” she interjects. “Why do you thik I’m doing this?”

“Forgot you always have a motive for everything.”

“And right now that motive is that you are a lot warmer than anything else in this room and we need better blankets.” She shifts position and feathers a few kisses on his cheek. “And because I love you.”

“Ten more minutes,” he murmurs again.

“I have an alarm set for fifteen. Give me that?”

Marcus nods, closing his eyes as his partner wraps herself around him like a fluffy-haired koala. The day they have ahead of them, they’re gonna need this kind of recent memory...


	9. worthy sacrifices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: the way you said "I love you"... on a post-it note.

In theory, they get nights together. There’s too damn much else going on around them, plans for an evacuation and a final rebuilding in a new place, for anyone to really notice or care that the co-Chancellors have, for intents and purposes, become completely domesticated. Abby justifies the arrangement because Marcus’s living space is a lot closer to medical than hers is, and anyways, they’re only sleeping together in the innocent literal sense. They get clingy at night, sure, but clothes stay on and hands stay in safe places and it is _not_  what it looks like.

Honestly, half of that void is because they don’t have the time.

Most nights, she collapses on her side of the bed after she works the late shift in medical and by that point her partner’s well asleep. When she wakes up in the morning, he’s already off to god-knows-where, and she’s almost surprised when their paths cross during daylight hours. They’re playing very different roles in the same position, and their innate trust in each other makes communication almost unnecessary. It’s a temporary sacrifice, Abby knows, and someday soon - once they reach the haven, once these last few battles are fought - she’ll learn how to be a lover again.

Far as she’s concerned, that day can’t come soon enough, and she’s more than willing to work as hard as she can to bring it closer.

One night, she almost falls asleep before she realizes that the bed feels strangely empty. Sure enough, she opens her eyes and she’s alone. Marcus, usually sprawled beside her and dead to the world at this hour, is elsewhere. _Weird_.

Fighting her sense of worry, Abby pulls her clothing back on and goes for a walk. She knows instinctively where her partner is, and their workroom isn’t that far away. It’s worth a shot. If he’s not there, she tells herself, she’ll go back to bed and not think about it further.

But sure enough, the door is open and the light is on and her dearest is fast asleep on the couch. Abby leans over and pulls down the blanket they keep here for these occasions, drapes it over his body, and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead before searching for pen and paper.

_We have a bed for a reason. Use it with me. I love you._

The small scrap of sticky-paper ends up on his neck, where she figures he’s likely to notice it and unlikely to swat it away in his sleep. Maybe not the most tactful thing she’s done, but it’ll do.

Satisfied with herself, Abby wanders back to their space and falls fast asleep.

When she wakes a few hours later, there’s a brightly colored piece of sticky-paper waiting for her on the other pillow.

_Thank you for taking care of me. It won’t happen again. I love you._

Someday, she thinks, this’ll be worth the sacrifices...


	10. nowhere i'd rather be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt - "we're gonna die in 6 months so wth"
> 
> OH LOOK SMUT.

They’re running out of time.

Try as she might to convince herself otherwise, convince herself that there is still hope, Abby just can’t find the strength. She’s optimistic, not delusional, and this crosses lines. As hard as everyone is working to prevent it, the world is probably going to end in a matter of months, and this time she chooses to accept the inevitable.

And if she’s gonna die soon anyways, she figures, then that justifies a few choices she normally wouldn’t make.

She wanted to wait, okay? Before, when she thought there was _time_ , the slow romancing of Marcus Kane looked an awful lot like a multi-year project. Move by inches, not miles. Get used to kissing, get used to the taste and feel of him, and then maybe move his hands where she wants them. Abby had a _plan_ , or at least she did, but none of that matters anymore.

None of that matters, she reminds herself as she walks down the hallway towards the small room her would-be lover has claimed for himself. If death is truly imminent this time, she wants one good memory before she goes.

The door is unlocked and Abby slips in, cautiously moving through the dark room before reaching the edge of Marcus’s bed. He sleeps against the wall, unsurprising somehow, and there’s just enough room for a her-sized body to share space on the thin mattress. She’d be content if this is all she gets, she’s pretty sure, but-

“What are you doing here?” Marcus murmurs, body suddenly turning to face her. He’s not panicked, at least, not worried this is an emergency. (No shit, Abby thinks - the fact that the room is still dark and she didn’t even mean to wake him does indicate a _few_  things.)

“Didn’t want to sleep alone,” she shrugs. “May I?”

He shifts position just a little, just enough to make space for her to lie comfortably beside him. She sits on the edge of the bed and kicks off her boots, then fluidly moves to take the expected space. Slow, Abby reminds herself. No sudden moves.

“What do you really want?” he asks, gently taking her hands in his.

“We could die any day now, and I...”

Abby’s voice cuts off and all of a sudden she really wants to cry. Too many emotions at once, too much-

“Oh.” Marcus lets go of her hands and moves to cup her face instead, tracing little spirals on the hollows under her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“You have to ask?” she almost laughs, and then shifts forward and kisses him.

This time, not an exploration or a goodbye. This time, just want. This time, letting go.

“Any day now,” she repeats against the softness of his lips. “And I don’t want to die without having had this.”

“Me neither,” he replies, hands dropping down to the hem of her shirt.

Slowly, they undress each other. Slowly, barely any space between them on this too-small bed, they explore. His callused hands wander across her soft skin, finding places that make her squirm and make her sigh, kneading her full breasts until she kisses him hard to keep from screaming. She’s equally adventurous, tracing scars with her fingertips, grinding against him and savoring the low moans he makes.

Finally, once the last bit of fabric separating them is thrown carelessly on the floor, they pause and breathe as one.

“Do you still have an implant?” Marcus asks, more learned precaution than anything else.

“I took it out after... I never thought... odds weren’t...”

He kisses her gently, innocently. “Odds have never been good for either of us, but here we are.”

“Here we are,” Abby repeats, pushing him onto his back and straddling him.

She sinks down onto his cock slowly, thankful for muscle memory as her body accepts the intrusion. His arms wrap around her, pulling her upper body down to meet his, hands slipping up to tangle in her hair yet allowing her to keep full control. When she reaches her limit, she stops, breathes, accepts. Wants.

“Fuck me,” he whispers.

She does, slowly riding him, slipping from his embrace but leaning down frequently for kisses. One of his hands slips to where their bodies are joined and puts the proper amount of pressure on her clit, bringing her forward until she bites his shoulder as she crosses the edge.

“Are you close?” she asks as she comes down.

“Yes.”

A few more shifts of her hips and he falls apart beneath her, breathing her name like a prayer.

“Stay?” he asks as she moves to lie beside him.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.”


	11. what could have been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby has a miscarriage. Sequel to "nowhere i'd rather be".

In fairness, Abby doesn’t realize what’s happened to her body until everything comes crashing down around her.

She’s never been predictable, so to speak, never quite had the luxury of a fully consistent cycle. A few days unexpectedly in one direction or the other is something she’s had more than enough time to make her peace with, and it’s gotten a little weirder now that she’s on the other side of forty but never enough to worry her.

Never enough, that is, until she wakes in a pool of her own blood that is definitely _not_  the beginning of her period.

Quickly and silently, Abby processes the situation. With all the chaos of the last few months, she hasn’t paid attention to her own body as much as she usually would. The fact that it’s been over two months since she last bled, and that her sex life became suddenly existent shortly thereafter, barely even registered with her.

Until now, she thinks bitterly. Until something in her womb turned traitor and decided not to keep the little life she didn’t even know was inside of her.

She shifts her body just a couple inches, meaning to jab Marcus’s shoulder and wake him because she _cannot_  do this alone, but instead a jolt of pain runs up her spine and she screams like she hasn’t since...

Well...

Since last time she was...

“Abby?”

Marcus is awake in a heartbeat, bless him, awake and worried and groping around in the dark for the lightswitch. By the time he finds it, Abby’s on her side and panting, and a thousand thoughts rush through his head at once and none of them are good.

“I’m losing a baby,” Abby breathes, almost crying. She’ll explain herself later, she promises the stars, after the last drop of useless blood is out of her uterus and after they’ve burned the ruined bedsheets and after-

“What do you need me to do?”

“Help me get to the shower.”

It’s more of a process than it ought to be. Abby’s unstable on her feet and far too dressed for the current situation - her sleep pants will have to be burned too, she thinks, her favorite pair of underwear along with them and maybe even this tank top for good measure - and she clings to her partner more than she absolutely needs to. He’s solid and warm, she tells herself, solid and warm and most importantly not bleeding and-

“Do you want the water on?”

“Not yet,” she murmurs. “Help me undress?”

In over four decades of life, she’s never felt this vulnerable. Another spasm hits as Marcus’s hands slip past the waistband of her underwear, meaning to shed all her lower garments in one smooth go, and she falls against him. She’s sobbing too, but barely realizes it, barely processes one of his hands climbing her back to hold her closer.

There’s nothing but pain and the loss of a future she didn’t even know she had until it was taken from her.

Somehow - she’s a little busy with the cramps, contractions, whatever the fuck they are, it’s two in the morning and they _hurt_  - she ends up naked and curled in a ball in the shower. Not two months, she realizes. More like three. Enough for her to have to go through this sick mimicry of birth.

Finally, at roughly the same point Abby decides she’s about a decade too old to sensibly go through this bullshit, the worst is over.

She opens her eyes for the first time in minutes and sees what would’ve been her second child, just a little smaller than her fist, bloody and red and inhuman against the cold tile floor. Again, Abby cries.

At some point, Marcus must’ve dropped to the floor as well, because he’s kneeling beside her while still giving her space. “I’ll find a box or something in the morning,” he murmurs. “We’ll bury it if you want.”

“I didn’t know,” Abby sobs. “I didn’t know I was... I of all people didn’t... I should’ve told you... I...”

“Shhh. It’s okay. I’m not mad at you, love.”

“Turn the water on now?”

She cries a little more, using up the last of her tears for a while and getting all breathless, with her body collapsed against his. The cold water on her skin barely registers with her; the warmth of her partner’s skin, on the other hand...

She’s lucky, she tells herself. If she has to go through this kind of hell, at least she’s not going through it alone.

After the last stubborn blood is off her body, she lets Marcus dry her off and take her back to bed. It’s the least she can do, and besides, she doesn’t have the energy to act on her own.

“If it’s what you want,” he murmurs as his arms wrap around her and his body envelops hers, “I do want to have a child with you.”

“And if we’re too old? If this is the closest we’ll ever get?”

“Then we can keep adopting every stray we find. Whatever makes you happy.”


	12. right now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "Marcus isn't in the tower when Clarke destroys Alie and Abby has to try and find him afterwards".

There are a few things Abby knows for sure right now:

One, her daughter is safe.

Two, that goddamn AI is permanently shut down.

And three, her partner is completely MIA. Figures.

Abby’s good at worrying about people - almost _too_  good, maybe, but she’s a doctor and a mother and a leader and fact is, the people in her life tend to need it. Jackson, precious assistant and surrogate little brother, tends to do just fine on his own, but everyone else Abby gives a damn about? Not so much.

And somewhere along the line, at some point that she does not want to think about right now, Marcus Kane became one of those people. (Probably, she thinks, around the point he stopped hiding his death wish.)

He’s here _somewhere_ , Abby knows. Not in the tower, she’s pretty sure, but hey, Polis isn’t that big and everyone else has the fallout under control. Or at least under control enough that she doubts anyone will notice she’s gone for a walk.

And if they do, well... she’ll deal with that mess later. Right now, she has a sacrificial idiot to track down.

As soon as she’s out on the street, Abby starts running. She’s ten if not twenty years too old for this particular mission to actually seem like a good idea, but... hell, she’s worried. She’s very worried. She is very, territorially, panicking kind of worried.

Doesn’t help that the main thing she remembers from the ALIE clusterfuck was the brief image of her would-be lover on a cross either. But that’s something to panic about later, _after she fucking finds him_.

Really, she thinks, how hard can it be to track down someone she’s spent almost her entire life sparring and who has recently developed a unique talent for getting into terrible situations?

Whatever. Just keep running, eyes open, and deal with everything else as she has to.

After a little while, Abby starts feeling the weight of the last few hours. Exhaustion, mostly, crashing over her in a wave that almost makes her collapse. She leans against the wall of the nearest building instead and takes a few deep breaths, steadying herself. She can push through this, make it go away like she makes everything else go away until she has time to deal with it (and she never has time but that’s beside the point) and-

“Abby?”

She knows that voice. She knows that face, slowly coming into view, that body moving to stand beside hers and the hand that gently wraps around her wrist. Freaking finally.

“Hey,” she breathes, twirling around and resting her body against his.

“Are you alright?”

Abby rolls her eyes and fights the urge to laugh. Typical Marcus, worrying about _her_  when his own body is in worse condition. “I’m alive,” she murmurs, shifting so her head rests just so on his shoulder. “And so are you. That’s all that matters.”

His lips brush against her forehead, silent affirmation, and she decides in that moment that she could easily get used to all of this.

Later, they’ll deal with the fallout of the last few weeks. Later, they’ll have an extremely necessary conversation about where their relationship stands. But right now...

Right now, Abby pulls her lover down for a lingering kiss against a wall in a public space in broad daylight, and she’s pretty sure she hasn’t been this happy in a very long time.

“Don’t ever leave me again,” she murmurs against his lips.

“I don’t plan on it.”


	13. equals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Protective Marcus, stubborn Abby, and snow. Post-s2.

For an entire week, he doesn’t leave her side. And surprisingly, nobody else so much as bats an eyelash about it.

The first day, Marcus justifies. Abby’s in a lot of pain and they can’t exactly spare anyone _competent_  to make sure she has water and other comforts when she needs them, and in the chaotic aftermath of the Mountain, his voice as leader isn’t being heard particularly loudly anyways. It makes sense, he tells himself, to be useful where there is a need.

After that, things get complicated.

He _knows_  Abby and that’s half the problem, because he’s known this woman most of his life and he knows her too well despite the fact that they’ve never been especially close, and he knows damned well that keeping her in bed for several days is going to be a nightmare of a task. Hence why he’s assigned himself to it, because self-loathing mess that he is, he doesn’t feel like anyone else deserves that punishment.

And oh, it is a punishment on far too many levels.

The monsters drilled into her thigh. Which means there is a bandage on her thigh that needs to be changed every so often, ideally by the person who’s assigned himself as her monitor because he’s convenient and _there_  and not completely incompetent. And which also means that, for comfort, Abby spends her seclusion wearing a particularly long sweater and not much else.

One of these days, Marcus thinks, he’s going to do something about these annoying feelings that have been flickering through his mind lately. But now is not the right time. Now is not even _close_  to the right time.

Instead, he barely speaks for three days and does his best to keep the woman under blankets.

“They need me out there,” Abby says about once every five minutes when she’s awake.

“They need you _whole_. You need to rest.”

“You haven’t slept in four days. You have no right to-”

Okay, she’s got a point. Damn her.

Against what little better judgment he still possesses, Marcus curls up on a chair barely big enough to hold his weight and sleeps for the better part of a day. And when he wakes, she’s gone. He wishes he were more surprised.

The problem, again, is that he _knows_  Abby. He’s seen her passionate heart in action so many times, and he knows she’s neither cold nor calculating enough to actually plan an escape from someone whose intentions are, if not completely pure, then at least on the right side of the scale. He also knows, if he listened to Jackson’s latest update correctly, that she’s going to be in a hell of a lot of pain if she puts weight on that leg for more than a couple minutes. And he knows, without anything specific to back it up, that she’s going to completely ignore that pain.

He knows her so well, he thinks, because at the end of the day, they are two halves of a whole.

After a moment to catch his breath and assess the situation, Marcus takes off running like he hasn’t in about a decade.

His intent is to go retrieve her from Medical, where she’s almost certainly wandered off to, but he doesn’t end up needing to go that far because something catches his eye as soon as he’s in open air. Something that looks an awful lot like his missing person, standing in the middle of an open space, eyes closed and arms outstretched as the first snow of the season falls around her.

“Abby?”

“Let me have this,” she counters, turning to face him.

“I... it’s cold,” Marcus stammers. He can’t remember the last time he’s been speechless around anyone else, but _her_ , well...

“Few minutes won’t kill me,” she laughs.

“But your leg-”

“If you’re that worried about me, then come over here and help me stay upright.”

He’s not sure what he expects as he wanders towards her. What he does _not_  expect is for her to collapse against him the moment he’s close enough, resting as much weight as she can in the embrace.

“I hate when you’re right,” Abby mutters, burying her face against his shoulder.

“C’mon. Let’s get you back to bed.”

For the first time he can remember, she doesn’t fight back, just shuts up and lets him lead. And hopefully that, like everything else about this week, will be a one-time occurrence.

Taking care of her is honorable and all, but they’re so much better as equals.


	14. don't let go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "please stay".

After they help her get as comfortable as reasonably possible on the stretcher, after her leg is bandaged and covered, she reaches for his hand and holds tight with the strength of a woman who very nearly made eye contact with death just a couple hours ago. Abby isn’t sure of much right now, but she does know that the long walk back home scares her a little bit and she doesn’t want to do it alone.

“Don’t let go,” she whispers, tilting her head to look up at Marcus with desperate eyes. Like it or not, he’s what she’s got right now, and if he’ll just grant this one last favor...

“I won’t,” he murmurs, reassuringly tracing a few spirals on her hand with his thumb.

And sure enough, their hands stay joined for the next eight hours.

When the procession gets close to camp, Abby murmurs a few words to the guards currently carrying her about exactly where she is to be taken. She can redo her own bandages as needed, but mostly she just needs to rest, and the limited space in medical ought to be saved for those who truly need it. Her own quarters will be more than suitable for her recovery, she insists, and so their part of the procession makes a slight detour.

“Are you sure?” Marcus asks, voice shaking with worry.

“I’ll be fine once I sleep it off,” she replies.

They’re both silent until they reach their destination, until Abby makes the shift from her current position onto her bed. She feels almost like she _did_  die, and from the worried looks she gets after she tries to stand on her own feet for two seconds, she looks equally bad.

“You can stay if you’re that worried about me,” she says, making full eye contact with Marcus. She’s not sure if she wants him to, but she knows he will and that’s what matters.

She knows, even now, that she’s the only star in his sky. Or if not the only one, if there are connections she hasn’t yet seen, then at least the brightest by far. And she knows, instinctively, that right now he’d be willing to do anything she asked of him.

Without words, he takes a place on the chair near her bed. He has to let go of her to do so, and she sees the pain flash through his eyes at the temporary loss of contact.

Maybe, she thinks, maybe she’s not the only one who doesn’t want to be alone.

Moments later, when it’s just the twon of them, Abby reaches out and takes his hand again,. This time, gentle. This time, wanting. This time-

“I would’ve taken your place in a heartbeat,” Marcus murmurs.

“I know.”

“You don’t deserve pain. I do.”

“And you had a building collapse on you less than a week ago,” Abby reminds him. “Isn’t that enough?”

“You came down and saved me. I wasn’t able to do anything for you.”

“You made sure I got back here in one piece. I think that’s enough.” She moves her body to one side of the bed, hissing from pain but trying to keep a bracve face. “C’mere. I’m not the only one with a bad leg right now, and _you_  walked the whole way.

She expects hesitation, but instead he quietly lays down beside her. “Thank you.”

“Least I can do,” she breathes as tiredness overwhelms her. “Least I could do.”


	15. time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OH LOOK MORE SMUT.

They have time.

Abby repeats the phrase over and over again as she clings to her lover, eyes darting around the sparse room so unlike the last place they got this chance. Right now, they have _time_. The dust is still settling, and no doubt there’ll be some new calamity in a few days’ time that will need to be dealt with, but she’ll worry about that later. Right now...

“Are you okay?” Marcus murmurs, leaning down to press his lips to her forehead.

“Just a little distracted,” she replies, shifting position so they can kiss properly.

“By?”

“The fact that we have at least a day before anyone comes looking for us and-” her hands wander down his back, untucking his shirt and slithering up again beneath the fabric- “I have no intention of leaving this room before then.”

He kisses her, lingering, tasting her. “I like that plan.” Another lingering kiss. “But you do realize-” short playful kiss- “that between us-” kiss- “we’ve accidentally adopted half the camp and-” kiss- “someone might-”

“Door’s locked,” Abby points out. “They can take a hint.”

That’s enough to convince him, enough to make him rock his hips against hers as he feathers wet scratchy kisses all over her face. She can’t help but laugh at the combination of sensations, and oh how she missed this. Oh how she missed getting the chance for anything more than a please-don’t-die kiss, most she’s gotten since that _glorious_  week...

“What are you thinking?” Marcus murmurs, lips inches from her ear.

“Right now, that we’re both wearing far too much clothing for what I want.”

His hands drop to her hips, to the hem of her shirt. “We should change that.”

She retaliates, pushing his shirt up above his waist. “We should.”

They move without words as they undress each other, hands roaming over newly exposed skin. He lingers on her breasts, finding the right places to touch and tease until she growls and playfully shakes herself away from him for a heartbeat. Their bodies are known territories to each other now, and if she worries over the new scar on his shoulder or he notes the slight blossom of her stomach, now is no time to voice those concerns.

It’s just _them_ , in her small bedroom behind a locked door, and they’ve got almost two months of lost time to make up for.

Abby isn’t completely sure how she ends up on the bed, but she does and then Marcus is kissing a path down her body, from one set of lips to the other. She’s still getting used to the beard that he’s stubbornly decided to keep, but she’s pretty sure she likes the way it scratches her breasts, stomach, mound, lower, _god_ , there, _good_. Neither of them are in any mood for unnecessary teasing, and she’s thankful when his lips go straight for her clit and he licks and sucks just right to bring her over the edge and _yes, please, good, yes_.

“Get up here,” she growls when she fully comes down.

She tastes herself on his mouth and she laughs as one of her hands slips between their bodies and strokes his cock. He shudders and growls and she knows he won’t last long inside her but she _wants_ , wants the weight of him, wants everything and-

“I love you,” he breathes as he fulfills her unspoken request. So casual, those three little words, made sacred by their union and yet-

For a few moments, Abby is made very aware of how small and fragile her body is, and then her mouth opens in silent pleasure and she. does. not. care.

They’ll be able to properly ravish each other later, she reminds herself. There will be plenty of time for switching and interplay and slow sex and sleepy sex, not just in the next day or two but hopefully over the rest of their long lives. There will be time.

But right now, he kisses her as his body is overwhelmed, and that is also enough.


	16. morning off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - “You are ridiculously comfortable…”

As usual, Abby’s eyes shock open five seconds before her alarm is supposed to go off. As usual, she moves fluidly, head rising from a comfortable position over her partner’s chest, and she is bolt awake by the time the clock on the bedside table ought to go off.

Except that it doesn’t. Small problem. Or maybe not so small.

Abby reclines a little and snakes her hand beneath Marcus’s still-sleeping body until her fingernails rest over his spine and then she digs in. Hard. There are much better ways to wake her partner, she knows, much more pleasant places to touch him, but this is probably an emergency and emergencies do not get dealt with by slipping her hand beneath the waistband of his sleep pants and-

A few seconds later, Marcus’s eyes open. As has recently become apparent, much to her amusement, he’s far less of a morning person than she is, and she doubts his expression would be anywhere near so pleasant if his first sight of the day were anything other than her face hovering over him (and, she supposes from this angle, her tits trying to escape from her tank top).

“What’s wrong?”

Smart, smart man.

“Did you screw with my alarm again?” Not that this has happened before, but-

“We are both off today, Abby. Take a deep breath and get back over here.”

As much as she hates immediately doing what he wants, at least this time he’s got a bit of a point, and she sinks back down onto the mattress and makes a mental note to get some sort of playful vengeance later.

Or maybe…

As she rests her head on his shoulder, her wandering hand slips lower and spreads across his stomach. Marcus sleeps shirtless, a fact she’s become very thankful for these last few months, and she’s not sure if he’s feeling the same itch she is but only one way to find out and-

“What are you doing?” he murmurs, low half-growl that sends a spike of warmth across the small space between them.

“What do you think?” Abby replies, closing her eyes and shifting her hand just an inch lower. “Okay?”

“Please.”

He hisses as her fingers curl around the base of his cock, hisses and it makes her laugh as she slowly strokes him. Morning wood is in her favor, and she knows it won’t take much to get him off. Slow, teasing, almost playful and-

He stops her for a moment and pushes his pants down out of the way. “You know, there are other things we could do...”

“But that would require me to move, and you are _ridiculously_  comfortable, and-”

“Understood,” he murmurs, tilting his head and kissing her.

She lingers there, rests her lips on his jaw, and feels the effects she has on him as she puts sweet pressure on his cock. Such beautiful sounds he makes, soft low growl-moans, fascinating contrast against his speeding heart and lungs and-

“Close.”

“Good.”

They’ll have to wash this blanket, Abby thinks, but the hassle of doing laundry will be well worth it. He collapses, spent, lies still as she inches down his body and laps up as much of the mess as she can. Yeah, she thinks, worth it.

“Your turn?” he asks when her head is back on his chest.

“Next time we wake up.”


	17. distracted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "it's just a cut, really".

Despite what it looks like, Abby swears she’s slept in the last twenty-four hours, Probably not long enough or deep enough, but she _has_  managed to find time to get horizontal on a mattress with her eyes closed and-

Okay, fine, that mystery shit that Indra claims is baaaasically coffee (and damn Marcus for not asking any further questions about that particular offering)  _might_ be working a little too well. And Abby _might_  be the most distractible she’s been at any point in her adult life. And really, she’s volunteered to sort through a pile of paperwork the size of a small child, which has been spread out across the office and is currently being divided into roughly thirty different piles, so it’s not like anyone’s gonna notice she’s a little spacey or anything. And-

At the same moment a particularly harsh edge of a folder scrapes across her palm, she hears the door opens. It takes her a second or two to figure out that she’s bleeding, and it’s nothing to worry about, except that it is because...

“Abby!”

God, and she thought the ten-years-ago version of Marcus who’d just gotten his council seat and actually thought he could make people _like_  him was the most annoying he was ever gonna get. Boy was she ever wrong about that one.

“It’s just a cut,” Abby shrugs. Harmless papercut. She of all people knows that. Maybe a little longer than ideal, but as long as she doesn’t grab anything with her left hand for like five minutes...

“Your hand is covered in blood,” Marcus points out, stating the obvious as per usual.

“Yeah, and I’ve spent the last three hours trying to figure out what half of this even is, so the only surprise is it’s taken me this long to get a cut.”

He kneels down beside her and wraps an arm comfortingly around her shoulders, smart enough to know that a full-on hug would just end with blood on his shirt. “Want help?”

“Which of your herd of adopted children are you avoiding?” Abby laughs, because she _knows_  her partner, she knows he doesn’t volunteer for mundane projects without a Very Good Reason and-

“Harper’s trying to domesticate a wild dog.”

“Harper found a wolf?”

“Looks a bit more like a twenty-pound rat with claws. Might be closer to a badger. Point is, kid’s got the damn animal on a leash and-”

“Yeah,” Abby mutters, leaning in and pressing a playful kiss to Marcus’s lips. “I could use the company right now, if you’re sure you’re bored enough to sort through two-hundred-year-old airplane schedules...”

“Bored? With you? Never.”


	18. we live here now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "please don't leave me alone".

It’s been a long day.

Abby’s pretty sure that statement covers every day of her adult life, but this one has been particularly tedious. If nothing else, she’s been reminded that she has no real taste for politics, never mind that she’s good at it. She likes action, not administrative tasks turned unexpectedly complicated - or Sinclair’s unique shorthand, which neither she nor Marcus can fully understand and may or may not be in code and...

Ah well. It’s late, all the important details have been worked out, and the rest can be dealt with tomorrow, Abby decides. As there’s no crisis at hand, she’s going to take advantage of the temporary quiet and go get some sleep.

She’s about to shut out the light in the workroom when she notices that Marcus is still sprawled on the couch. Worse, he looks... heavens, Abby’s not sure what word describes the situation at best, but “haunted” comes close. It’s a look she’s seen on him a couple times over the years, and every other time has been accompanied by a half-empty bottle of moonshine in his hand. Watching it happen sober is a whole new animal, and not a particularly friendly one either.

“Are you okay?”

He turns to make eye contact with her and she notes that his eyes are puffy, like he’s putting up a valiant effort to keep from crying but probably won’t last more than another few minutes. “Can you stay?” he murmurs.

So much for plans, Abby can’t help thinking, still standing in the doorway. She has half a mind to just walk off and let circumstances settle on their own, but on the other hand... screw it...

“What do you need me to do?” she asks, hand dropping from the switch.

(Three months ago, everything about this scenario would’ve been unthinkable. The hesitant eye contact, low gentle voices, the fact that she’s genuinely _worried_  about someone who she once thought spent every spare moment he had trying to make her life miserable... but he hasn’t done that in a while, she reminds herself. Maybe that part of him is dead and maybe something likable has blossomed in its place and-)

“Please don’t leave me alone.”

Ah. So it’s _that_  kind of night.

Abby crosses the space and sits down on the far end of the couch, taking up no more space than she has to. There’s a part of her that wants positions to change, wants his head in her lap and her fingers in his mess of hair, but that would be forward and she’s not there yet and hell, she’ll probably _never_  be there. Not for a long while yet.

“Kick me or something if I fall asleep,” she laughs.

“You can sleep. You spend more nights on this couch than in your own bed anyways.”

“And what would you know about my bed?”

“Offhand, nothing, but I do have a good guess where that blanket came from...”

Abby pulls said blanket off the top of the couch and shakes it out before draping it to cover both of their bodies. Marcus looks almost adorable in the little nest she’s created around him, and isn’t _that_  a frightening thought but it’s still enough to curve her lips into a sweet smile.

“I donated a blanket, you donated breakable mugs,” she points out.

“To save them from being used for target practice!” Marcus counters.

(Oh how Abby wishes she’d been able to watch _that_  go down.)

“We live here now,” she shrugs. “Both of us, in a converted storage closet.”

“Good thing you like me now.”

“Good thing you’re not trying to kill me.”

“That happened _once_.”

“Whatever.”

She closes her eyes and lets tiredness take her. If nothing else, she thinks as she drifts off, she’ll be that much easier to find if something goes wrong before sunrise...


	19. denial

As it turns out, dealing with like four attempted apocalypses in under a year is _not_  the most stressful period of Abigail Griffin’s life. No, that honor goes to the time period immediately _after_ , as the dust settles and pieces are picked up and she realizes, to her horror, that her contraceptive implant got barbecued or dented or something at some point and now she is not alone in her body.

She knows goddamn well how _that_  happened, at least. She’s taken affection where she can, in the arms of an old friend she’s just recently become comfortable publicly admitting she loves. Marcus is a good man, and Abby knows without doubt that whatever choices she makes about the little life he helped create inside her, he will stand by her side and support her every move. That, she reminds herself over and over as she processes the inevitable, is not the problem.

(No, the problem is she’s not sure she’s strong enough to go through this again, the problem is she’s going to be forty-two by the time she has the damn kid and the odds aren’t in her favor, the problem is she’s done the single-mother thing once and she’s _terrified_ of a second go and maybe she should’ve thought of that before she slipped into the bed of someone with a blatant martyr complex, the problem is... fuck, there are a lot of problems here, but the potential involvement of Marcus Kane in his potential offspring’s life is not one of them. Except for the part where Abby’s going to get stuck with his paranoia on a _slightly_ greater level than usual, but y’know, that’s how he shows love and it’s weirdly endearing so she can deal. Probably.)

It’s this overwhelming fear that keeps her quiet about the situation, at least towards her partner. A few other people, she decides to disclose to for other reasons. By the time Abby asks Jackson if he wants to double-check a pregnancy test for her, that is _not_  the weirdest thing he’s had to do that day (seriously, the aftermath of a higher-than-usual Jasper Jordan versus some weird mutant animal that probably branched off from being a squirrel at some point, _not pretty!!_ ), and he paces and tsks like the good assistant and little brother figure he is and gives Abby a few pointed looks but within ten minutes of confirming that yes, Abby’s uterus currently has an occupant, Jackson’s figured out a viable plan for himself to slowly take the lead role in medical and officially run things until whatever point Abby decides she wants to come back. _If_  she wants to come back, he adds, like it’s totally cool if she takes permanent maternity leave or has a midlife crisis or whatev. Completely sympathetic, bless him.

Equally sympathetic is Indra’s kid, who Abby pulls aside during a trade a few days later and asks for a small favor. The next time the trade delegation arrives, Gaia hands Abby a leather bag full of dried herbs, complete with instructions for how strong to make the tea. Abby has no doubt that information’s slipped from daughter to mother and most of the known world is going to find out about her current condition within a month, but she also trusts Indra to be the bearer of that info.

What Abby manages to _forget_ , in the rush of making sure nobody in her immediate vicinity figures out that she’s having morning sickness that no Grounder herb combo can neutralize, is that her chosen bearer of info to the outside world has several friends in Abby’s daily orbit. Including, y’know, the person Abby is trying to _not_  tell about her pregnancy until he notices it of his own accord.

In hindsight, she’s genuinely surprised that it takes an entire month for Marcus to overhear some random conversation, track down his bestie for confirmation, and then finally get around to confronting _her_  about it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he murmurs. It’s late, _she’s_  late because Octavia goddamn Blake jumped fifteen feet from a goddamn tree and is lucky her ankle is merely broken in several places and she’ll only be on crutches for like a month, and Abby would like to curl up under blankets and stay there for approximately a week but _nooo_ , her boyfriend’s timing is absolute perfection as per fucking usual and-

“I am _terrified_ ,” Abby murmurs, crossing the distance and falling into the comfort of Marcus’s arms. Even with panic spiking within her, she’s at her happiest nestled against him and-

“Not an answer, love.”

“If I didn’t tell you, I thought I could pretend this isn’t happening. But it’s fucking happening and in a couple months I’m going to bring a child into a world that has goddamned mutant gophers and I am not sure I’m ready for that.”

“We have a few months to exterminate the gophers.”

Abby laughs. “Out of every time things have gone fantastically out of control, _this_  is the one time you’re calm?!”

“The woman I love is pregnant with my child and I only know about it because Indra and Raven are apparently collaborating on a betting pool about how ridiculous the kid’s name is going to be. I’ve already had my freakout for the day.”

“At least Raven I expected. Indra...”

“Has decided she’s going to get a functional electronic music player out of this if it’s the last thing she does,” Marcus finishes, trying not to laugh.

“I’m not sure I have the patience or energy to raise a kid that’s half you,” Abby murmurs. “But that’s not gonna stop me from trying.”

He kisses her forehead, gently pulling her a little closer. “Exactly when were you planning on telling me?”

“I was hoping you’d figure it out when I started to show?”

“You’re impossible.”

“And _you_  aren’t going to let me pretend like this isn’t happening...”

“Nope.”

“You’re lucky I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that you can always send me Kabby prompts on tumblr [@electricbluebutterflies](http://electricbluebutterflies.tumblr.com)


	20. enjoy the view

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt - “I’ll never unsee that."

Marcus has a very strict routine. At the end of every day, except the nights he takes overnight guard shift so the young kids can be with their partners, he does one full patrol of the camp. One long slow spiral towards the heart, ending outside Abby Griffin’s door to make sure she’s sleeping or at least trying to and to make sure she doesn’t need anything. Perhaps it’s a little creepy out of context, but the arrangement is understood and if Abby had minded, she would’ve said something. And probably punched him for good measure, heaven knows she’s probably had enough wet dreams about that idea and-

Gods, now he’s thinking about _that_. Bad, bad brain.

As usual, he walks his spiral, noting a few minor maintenance issues but nothing to worry about right this second, and stops outside his partner’s door with nothing strange on his mind whatsoever. Marcus is... maybe not _calm_ , that ship has sailed, but as close as he gets these days. Close enough that he has no trouble letting himself through the slightly open door and-

Well. Shit.

Abby is standing naked in the center of her bedroom, naked and eyes closed and body facing the door, hair loose and legs spread and hands wandering and lips parted and _oh_ , there is no tactful way to intrude upon this and-

Her eyes shock open before Marcus finds a way to set himself on fire from strength of will alone, and he’s not sure if that’s a good or bad thing but-

Seemingly oblivious to him, she crosses the room and shuts the door, trapping the two of them in the same place. This is _not_  gonna end well, this is not-

“I’ll never unsee this,” Marcus mutters, half amazed he’s even able to speak.

“Unsee what?” Abby laughs, twirling to face him. She’s enjoying this, somehow. Hell, maybe she even planned this, maybe she’s got some exhibitionist kink or-

“You,” he breathes. All he can say.

”We’re even now,” she shrugs.

“Medical does not-”

“It completely counts. I didn’t _have_  to make you strip down, but I wanted to be thorough and-”

“I had a two hundred year old concrete building collapse on me!” Marcus points out. “You did not-”

She motions to the half-healed scar on her upper thigh. “I have this. Not as impressive, but-”

“Abby-”

“I don’t mind you seeing me. It’s just skin. I trust you not to touch without asking.”

“I still feel like I intruded.”

“I forgot to make sure my door was shut. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is to me.”

“Then you’re welcome to leave. Your choice.”

Leave? Hell no. Right now, Marcus feels like his boots have grown rots into the metal floor and-

“Are you sure I didn’t interrupt you in the middle  of something?”

“I wasn’t.,.. god no, Marcus. A woman’s allowed to expore her own body without trying to get herself off.”

“I know but-”

Abby laughs. “You should probably leave before you pass out. But I don’t mind you staying if you’re so inclined.”

With that, she wanders back over to her wardrobe and pulls out a tank top and underwe and pulls them on in a way Marcus suspects is _partially_  for her benefit. But oh, he win’t say anything, let alone _do_  anything. Just enjoy the view.

“I should go,” he murmurs. “Goodnight, Abigail.”

“Wait a moment.” She crosses the distance between them again and, when she’s close enough, presses her lips to his jawline for a heartbeat. “There. Now you can go.”

“What was that for?”

“What, I’m not allowed to kiss a friend goodnight?”

“That wasn’t-”

“You think too much, darling. Now go sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

As he wanders away, back down the hallway and a few more turns until he reaches his own quarters, Marcus is aware of two things. One, that he hasn’t been this hard since somewhere in his late teens and two, that he is _never_  going to unsee the mental image of Abigail Griffin in all her glory.

(Someday, he prays, someday he really wants to be able to touch her. But for now, this accident is more than he ever dreamed of.)


	21. satisfaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be comfort sex but then turned into... whatever the heck THIS is, I guess.

She’s not even mad about the separation right now.

Abby gets it, she does - life happens, projects get underestimated, communication devices accidentally break, and absences last far longer than anticipated. And as much as she wants to yell at Marcus about this particular round of communication fail bingo, yell at him until he gets all blushy and he wraps his arms around her and holds her close to make her calm down because tiny angry girlfriend tends to shut up when she gets distracted by his steady heartbeat... as utterly satisfying as that will be, she can wait until tomorrow for that little play-fight.

Right now, Abby Griffin has other forms of satisfaction on her mind.

As soon as their bedroom door is closed and locked, she pounces, jumps up and pulls him down for a long kiss like she _wanted_  to do half an hour ago but didn’t because their horde of semi-adopted children have made their feelings abundantly clear about Actual Adult PDA. Abby was tempted to go for it anyways, heaven knows the kids have all seen way worse than their surrogate parents making out, but she held back. She was good. And that last half-hour is yet more time she wants to make up for, yet more time to-

Marcus practically growls against her lips and something clicks inside her brain and no, not like this. No. Not like-

“Something wrong?”

“Slow down,” Abby murmurs. “We’ve got time.”

“Last time you said that-”

“Last time I said that wasn’t when I hadn’t seen you for a fucking _month_. You really think anyone’s going to interrupt our alone time tonight?!” She puts her hand on her hip for effect, and an image flashes through her mind of a strangely similar fight several years ago. Not that this is a fight, exactly, but-

“Door’s locked,” he shrugs. “You want time, we have time.”

“Who are you and what the hell did you do with my partner?” Abby laughs.

“What, I’m not allowed to be content with an evening of making love and then falling asleep together afterwards?”

“Depends on what strings are attached.”

“Absolutely none, love.”

She rolls her eyes, not quite believing, but lets him kiss her all the same. And oh, she’ll never get enough of this innocent collision of bodies. There’s something between them that just _works_ , and sometimes that spark blossoms and-

“Permission to take my jacket off?” Marcus asks.

“I don’t want _that_  slow,” she counters. “You could completely strip right now for all I care.”

“That did not sound like a request.”

“Not yet it wasn’t.”

 Sensing the need for a midpoint, he sheds jacket and shirt and boots and then kisses her again, hands dropping to her hips and exploring.

“I missed you,” he breathes.

She slips a hand between their bodies and gently traces the proof of exactly how much he missed her. “Good.”

“Hm?”

“I missed you too.”

With that, Abby sheds her shirt and, for good measure, her pathetic excuse of a bra. Damn thing’s one thread from falling apart and-

Whatever thoughts she was going to have about tattered lingerie, they’re rendered useless as Marcus’s hands move to her newly exposed breasts and knead her soft flesh. He has calluses in all the right places, she thinks, and then he sucks a nipple into his mouth and okay, this isn’t _the_  weirdest orgasm she’s ever had but it’s goddamned close.

When she comes down, panting, she finds just enough presence to pull him down onto their bed and straddle his hips. Revenge is sweet on her mind and she trails kisses down his chest to that effect, savoring the noises he makes as she drops lower and undoes the button of his pants and-

“No,” he murmurs, taking her hands in his own. “Get up here. Please.”

She complies, and then there’s some shifting of bodies as both sets of pants are removed and then his hand cups her aching wet core and oh, there is nothing she wants more than the here-and-now. He strokes her clit and she hisses, _yes_ , she’s as turned on as she’s getting and-

“Slow might not actually happen until morning,” Abby points out. “If you can live with that.”

“Do I look like I’m complaining?”

No, she thinks, no he does not. She’s still not _entirely_  used to the beautiful sight of completely naked Marcus Kane underneath her, despite how regularly she gets that view (barring circumstantial interference and accidental roadtrips across wastelands and so on), but she’s quite certain she likes this view. There’s something about him that makes her think about old lions, and that’s such a strange thought to have as she sinks down onto his waiting cock and yet it’s appropriate and-

She rolls her hips, feeling her body adjust to the intrusion, and that is quite enough thinking for right now.

It doesn’t take much to get either of them close. Slow collisions, his hips rising to meet hers, his eyes closed in bliss and hers wide open in the same. Hisses of names, he kisses her shoulder as he comes, she accidentally bites his ear as she follows moments later and-

“Are you okay?”

He laughs, shifting their bodies into a more comfortable position for cuddles. “You ask the strangest questions.”

“Did you not process that I just bit you?”

“Yes...”

“I hate when you’re calm...”

“Close your eyes and sleep, Abby. You can be mad at me in the morning.”

“Don’t fucking tempt me...”


	22. weird hormones and all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pregnancy fluff/smut.

Fact - Abby Griffin hates being pregnant.

She's willing to tough through it a second time for the end result, mind you. The idea of her partner's expressive dark eyes being removed from the gene pool was not appealing to her, and hell, she's curious what their genetic mix is going to create. She wants the _kid_ too, wants nothing more in this world than to chase her offspring around and cuddle with them and maybe not fuck this one up quite as much as she did with Clarke. (Not that she blames herself for _all_ of that, but maybe if she'd been a better mother… ah, nevermind, Clarke was always a little too much Jake for her own good and no amount of parenting could've changed that.) Abby has more than enough reasons to tough through the next few months, but still - she _hates_ being pregnant.

The current tradeoff for her own self-loathing, however, is that her partner has rather different feelings about the current state of her body.

Easy for him, Abby can't help thinking. He doesn't have to live in this stupid body that is currently swollen in all the wrong places, reacts poorly to temperature… reacts poorly to _everything_ , really, in ways that make her wonder how the human race has survived so long. But Marcus, who just has to _watch_ her personal hell, thinks it's beautiful. So maybe there are a few upsides to this incubation period.

Right now, however, is not an upside. Right now, Abby is praying to things she doesn't believe in that their door stays _locked_ because she is standing naked in the middle of their space and she feels like she is on fire and the idea of putting on clothes again at any point in the near future is very unappealing. Which is going to be extremely awkward when some crisis inevitably happens before her hot flash is over and god, whomever taught half the kids to pick locks is going to have _problems_ if they're still alive and she ever finds out who they are and-

Hey, at least she knows sounds enough to know that an actual key is in the lock right now, which means it's probably just her partner and she'll be okay. Probably.

Sure enough, the door opens just enough for Marcus to slip in and promptly drop whatever he's holding (it looks vaguely like a notebook but Abby is _slightly_ distracted and isn't sure). Over a year together and he's still in awe of her, although she supposes her physical transformation might have something to do with it. Point is, she'll never get sick of the way he looks at her, like she's glowing and not just in the pregnancy way, like she is the most beautiful thing his eyes will ever see. Worshipful, almost, and yet-

"Are you alright?" he asks, voice slow like he's not sure that's even the right question.

"Hot flash," Abby shrugs. Not, in the grand scheme of things, one of the weirder side effects she's had lately. "Don't judge."

"I'm not…"

She moves towards him, close close close, and presses her lips to his for a heartbeat. "Reflexes," she breathes against his skin. "Let me have this."

"Anything I can do?"

"Not sure. Anything you have in mind?"

She knows where this leads, or at least where she wants it to, but it's more fun when she baits until he moves. So much more fun to watch Marcus's precious composure slip - okay, fine, he's not as obsessed with appearing bulletproof as he used to be but there are still _echoes_ of that trait - and watch him become someone else. Someone only she truly knows, someone who only exists within the sanctity of this space.

Someone who has no trouble with pulling her into an embrace, hands wandering up and down her back, exploring and savoring and kissing her at just the right moment to distract her so perfectly.

"Hormones in our favor?" he asks when they come up for air, before this goes further.

"Far as I know." If the warmth blossoming in her core is any indication…

"Good."

She still hates the current form of her body, but she hates it a little less when her partner shows such gentleness. He takes sweet time with her, touches places that were _not_ this sensitive five months ago, and oh she could get used to this. _Is_ used to it, really.

"What do you want, Abby?"

"Just keep touching me. I can't… I still feel like I'm on fire, so…"

"It's okay." He cups her face with his hands and makes cautious eye contact. "I want to make you happy. That's what matters here."

"I have about zero desire to touch you right now. Just letting you know."

"I can live with that."

(God, she's not used to him _compromising_. Not this easily, at least.)

She closes her eyes and gives in.

So easy, this. So easy to trust and let Marcus do what he will, let his fingers trace beautiful patterns on her thighs and his mouth close around an aching nipple and then a finger slips up and grazes her clit and _oh_ , one thing she does not hate about this pregnancy is it takes almost nothing to get her off and _oh, good, please._

If she has to be overwhelmed so completely, there's no other way she'd prefer.

Her body comes down and she halfway collapses against him, almost laughing as she processes the utter ridiculousness of her life and current position. Sometimes it doesn't even feel _real_ , and sometimes-

"Everything alright?"

"I might be in shock," Abby murmurs. "Maybe."

"Love you too," he replies, gently kissing her forehead.

"Weird hormones and all?"

"Weird hormones and all."


	23. ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - Abby and Marcus as high school teachers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... fun fact, I don't know if the main event of this chapter would even be PLAUSIBLE because my own RL experience with that location was like ten years ago and I was a little distracted by other personal issues that day, but... just pretend it is because two hundred teenagers charging into a symbolic duck pond is a really pretty mental image.

Fact - Marcus Kane loves his job more than he loves any human being he has ever met (with the possible exception of a particular scrappy sophomore who looks just a little too much like old photographs of his mother for the resemblance to be entirely coincidental).

Also fact - Marcus Kane hates the bureaucratic bullshit part of his job, a factor that seems to be increasing with every year of seniority he gains. As evidenced, among other things, by the fact that he got the short straw for the annual herding of the cats... erm, the war memorial field trip. Marcus Kane _hates_  the war memorial field trip.

Frankly, the school is just five miles too far to be “officially” part of suburban DC, and the war memorial field trip is an annual clusterfuck in which almost the entire junior class gets bussed into the city on the most miserably humid Tuesday in September and herded around by two short-strawed history teachers and whichever other faculty are masochistic enough to volunteer. As per usual, most of the lineup is useless, and Marcus has justified doubts that he and Indra are going to be able to keep two-hundred-odd teenagers in bright red t-shirts in line.

And then, because some cosmic being _really_  has it out for Marcus, Sinclair’s wife goes into labor the morning of the trip and the only potentially useful sideline help is officially out of the picture. Supposedly there was a backup person in case of this exact scenario, but Marcus didn’t bother to find out who said person was.

And yeah, the universe definitely hates his guts because he wanders down to the bus lot ten minutes before the teenage wildlife is set to descend and finds himself face to face with none other than Abby goddamn Griffin.

(Marcus has _feelings_  about Abby Griffin. Most of which are that she needs to keep her mouth shut a bit more during staff meetings. And a few of which are that, if she were to initiate an encounter, he would _love_  to kiss and touch and undo her. But mostly that she’s irritating - especially when she’s right, and that happens too frequently.)

“I’m easy to get a sub for,” she shrugs in explanation. “Not the phone call I wanted at four in the morning, but you know how charming Jaha can be when he wants something and-”

“Just don’t physically threaten any of the kids. Beyond that, I don’t give a damn what you do.”

Marcus intends to avoid Abby for the entire ordeal. He makes sure she ends up on a different bus with a different cluster of teenage delinquents, and he hears nothing but static on his walkie-talkie so he assumes that the drive in goes well. And herding two hundred redshirts down the Vietnam memorial goes even better - mostly because Indra thought to bring a megaphone this year, but it’s still an impressive showing.

And then they reach the World War Two memorial, which is like ninety percent water because some architect had more money than brain cells, and all hell breaks loose.

In fairness, this has happened every single year Marcus has led the war memorial trip. In fairness, he’s pretty sure it happens to other school groups as well. But that knowledge doesn’t stop the disappointed groan he makes when a good twenty-odd redshirts charge into the water in unison. Slowly their peers join them, twos and threes at a time until almost the entire junior class of Arcadia Prep is hip-deep in a glorified pond and luckier than they’ll ever understand that there’s too goddamn many of them for the security guards to stage an intervention.

What _is_  surprising, however, is that this time there’s an adult in their midst.

It takes Marcus a couple seconds to process that the petite middle-aged woman letting her hair down and twirling around in a knee-deep area of the pool is someone who’s supposed to help keep this exact scenario from happening. But sure enough, Abby seems to be enjoying the annual rite even more so than most of the expected participants. Of course she is, he can’t help but think. Maybe that’s the reason she even took the damn phone call a couple hours ago, because she _knew_  she’d have this chance to publicly embarrass the reputation of their school and-

“What are you waiting for?!” she calls out, spinning around and making eye contact with him.

“What part of please do not swim do you not-”

“If you get in the water, you have an alibi for why you didn’t stop that duck from eating a good chunk of the older Blake kid’s earlobe.”

Marcus takes a quick glance in the general direction of teenage-male unhappy screaming and decides that, for once in her life, Abby has a point. Indra can deal with the paramedics or whatever; she’s more charming anyways, whereas he’s got much more important stuff on his mind.

“Good plan,” he murmurs, taking cautious steps into the water until he’s directly opposite Abby. “Any chance of you volunteering next year?”

“Depends on whether you help me herd my advanced bio kids through a CDC complex next month,” she counters.

“Is it air-conditioned?”

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a maybe.”

She leans down and splashes him, and maybe this annual horror isn’t so bad after all.


	24. reasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - trying to get pregnant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no goddamn clue what this AU thinks it is but I am so tempted to flesh it into a multichapter fic of some sort 'cause writing this thing ended up hitting SO MANY of my kinks and interests and stuff that appeals to me and... yeah. If y'all want this thing expanded, please leave a comment here or tell me on tumblr [@electricbluebutterflies](http://electricbluebutterflies.tumblr.com).

Abby never thought she’d want a second child, let alone be in a position where she could have one, but those assumptions were made in a world far different than the one she now inhabits. In this current reality, whether or not she manages to conceive and carry a child to term may well affect the future of the entire human race. Never mind that she’s well past her prime childbearing years; she’s in a committed relationship where the physical hardware lines up for a hypothetical pregnancy, and she still bleeds every month, so the obligation is implicit.

How she herself feels about it, she can’t help but think as she lies back on her bed, doesn’t matter at all.

She is lucky, she tells herself. She is lucky enough to have a partner who is also hesitant about the whole mess - more so than she is, even. Marcus has walked a much different road to get to the same point, and the fact remains that this little life will be the first child he fathers _as far as he knows_. The uncertainty is the damning point for him, the fact that there was once a mistake that was never resolved, and Abby can sense the fear in him as he paces back and forth. Self-loathing too, a worry that this will somehow be the act that turns him into a monster, but mostly fear of too many irrational things and-

“We don’t have to,” he murmurs. “What are the odds on your fertility anyways?”

“Existent,” she replies. “And you like having sex with me, so I don’t see how this is-”

“Do we really want to bring a _child_  into this hell?”

She shifts her position, lies on her side so she can make better eye contact with him. “You know as well as I do that we don’t have that choice. We’re obligated to try.”

“We could lie. Say it didn’t take.”

“I don’t feel right about that, Marcus. You don’t have to stay, after... if this works and it’s too much for you to deal with and...”

He crosses the distance between them, sits down on the bed and takes her hand in his. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m just... less than pleased with the circumstances.”

“Soon as I get knocked up, you won’t even have to think about me naked if you don’t want to.”

“That’s not the issue,” he murmurs, leaning down and kissing her.

He tastes sad-sweet against her and she feels her body start to respond. She’s not thrilled with exact circumstances either, but she is a willing participant in this disaster. Perhaps too willing, she thinks as she straddles him, but at least she’ll get _something_  out of it even if this attempt fails.

“How often did they say we need to...”

“Daily for four specific days each cycle.”

“At least I have a valid reason to spend time with you.”

She laughs, grinding down against him. “You don’t need reasons. We’re six months from common-law married, I feel like that-”

“It does, but the new rules _help_.”

He’s decently hard beneath her and wearing far too much clothing for her liking, and she slips her hands up under his shirt and runs them over his back. “I do love you, you know. I would’ve told them where to stick it if I hadn’t been so sure about-”

“Shhh. We can talk about bureaucratic bullshit once this is over.”

Abby’s in no mood to argue with that logic. She shifts off him and watches him undress, shamelessly licking her lips as his skin is exposed. True, they aren’t in their prime anymore, but there’s still a beauty to this man who takes up space in her bed and her life. His recent scars are familiar to her; the older ones, not so much. Someday, she thinks, someday she’s gonna ask about the one on his stomach and-

“I love you too,” he breathes.

“I’m as ready as I’m gonna get if you-”

He helps her lie back, rests a hand on the small of her back and stays there hovering over her as she gets comfortable. “I don’t want to hurt you, love.”

She laughs. “We both know you’re not capable. Now are you going to-”

Slowly, deliberately frustrating, he draws a finger through her slit. She feels more than watches his reaction to what he feels, and it’s all she can do to keep from growling as he circles her clit.

“Think I read somewhere that fertility odds are better right after an orgasm.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Please. Let me forget that we’re practically being forced to do this.”

“Last I checked, you didn’t need extra motivation to get all over me.”

“Yes. But you didn’t want your implant taken out. We _had_  that talk, Abby.”

And that was six months ago and things have changed a little bit since then, she wants to point out, but she keeps her mouth shut. He’s still teasing her, bringing her closer and closer to her release, and she’s about to make some comment about how much she appreciates his calluses when the little glass ball bursts and everything feels suddenly very right.

“Let’s get this over with,” she breathes.

To his credit, Marcus is gentle. He moves slowly, eyes closed and hands wandering in all the right directions, leans down and kisses her and sucks on her bottom lip until it almost hurts.

“Not getting it over with,” he murmurs. “We’re not animals, love. We should at least enjoy our fate.”

She clenches around him and smirks as she watches some of his composure slip. “Your cock is currently in me, Marcus. How much more primal can we even get?”

He responds as she hoped, thrusts a little faster and a little harder and just barely misses her g-spot, and her body is tense in the most delightful way, and-

“Last chance. Tell me no.”

“We’re damned either way. Might as well be damned and a little less alone.”

Seconds later, he finishes inside her.

“Hopefully that takes,” he murmurs. “Or one of our other attempts this week. Hopefully-”

“Thought you said-”

“I hate trying-to-conceive sex,” he growls as he shifts off of her. “Feels wrong.”

“Emotionally, yeah. Physically isn’t so bad.” She leans over and kisses him, lingering on the little details of their collision and the sensation of his scruff against her skin. “But it’ll be a lot better once this is over with.”

“We’ll find a way, Abby.”

“I know. You’ll do everything you can. I trust you.”

He gets up and starts pulling his clothing back on, and there’s a franticness to his movements that strikes her as a little odd.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Extra guard shifts this week, love. Something’s coming. Not sure what yet, but-”

“Tell me. If you find out what it is, tell me. Promise?”

He leans down and kisses her as he adjusts the placement of his jacket. “Promise. Love you.”

And with that, he leaves.

Abby lies back on the bed, legs up in the air because she read somewhere that’d increase her odds, and hopes the world lasts long enough for her second child to be born into it...


	25. the five phases of changing your mind

**Fight Me**

She’s never met someone so infuriating.

No, scratch that. Abby may look sweet, but she’s got very little internal tolerance for bullshit. She’ll keep her mouth shut until someone crosses a more normal-person line, but she makes her mind up long before that happens.

And if there’s one thing she’s been sure of for at least the last decade, it’s that Marcus Kane was specifically created by whatever cosmic powers there are to set off every goddamn button she has. _All of them._ At the same time. At every possible opportunity.

Honestly, the man is lucky she has even stronger feelings about murder (namely, that she would absolutely never cross that line under any circumstances whatsoever). Otherwise…

She’s put effort into this loathing as well. If she were a slightly different sort of woman, she thinks, she’d be a little quieter about it. Keep her mouth shut just a little more in meetings, not focus quite so much of her energy on the thrill of having an enemy. But it’s _fun_ , to a point, and it’s a good distraction from all the other shit going on in her life, and the endorphin rush feels so good.

Only good thing she has right now, if she’s honest with herself.

Maybe someday this phase will end. Maybe someday they’ll get out of their well-worn patterns of alternating between avoiding each other as best as possible and sparring at all the (best) wrong times. Maybe some day, maybe in another decade if all goes well, he’ll stop being such an asshole.

But for now, he seems to enjoy the rush as much as she does, and they’re probably going to die too young in the frozen-metal tin can that is the Ark, and she might as well take as much as she can while it lasts.

After all, the feeling of wanting to put her hands around his neck is the best reminder she has that she’s still human.

**Break Me**

It’ll be days before she heals up. She knows this. She knew exactly what would happen before she flipped the first switch that led to where she stands right now, burn marks on her back and pulsing pain she can’t do anything about, and she regrets _nothing_.

Someone had to push him too far. And while that wasn’t her _primary_  intent, it was still present in her mind and it felt so good. With what little focus she had as the shock baton made contact with her skin, she watched him break, and she will treasure that mental image for the rest of her life.

Someone had to be the martyr. Why not her for once?

And she watches him walk off into the woods, and she prays he won’t come back because her world will be so much quieter without him, but she’s not sure she’ll know what to do with that quiet.

They play necessary roles for each other, some sort of counterbalance that she barely has words for, and the venom in her heart will die down. In just a couple days, she knows, she’ll almost miss him. These past few days, their first on solid ground, she’s felt a new sense of hope. Maybe this is the chance she’s waited for.

But if anyone asks, all she wants is for him to bleed like she has. She wants payback first. _Then_ , she will let go and forgive and move forward.

(Maybe.)

**Unbind Me**

It’s so strange, this disorientation, the past three days and all of the unspeakable bullshit she has _survived_  and the fact that at the end of it all, the last person she expected is unhooking the restraints on her wrists and trying very hard not to cry.

Earth air is a goddamn strange thing, Abby thinks. No other explanation.

He screamed louder than she did when They hurt her. She’ll figure that out later, ask a bunch of questions and get some kind of answer and hope against hope that it’s not what it looks like and-

“Can you feel everything?”

His fingers are rubbing the marks on her wrist. Those will heal fine, she knows; so will her leg, in a couple weeks, though she’ll always have a hell of a scar.

“Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

He shakes his head, somehow not believing her. “You’ll need to rest, Abby. Once we get home.”

“After all of this?” She slips one hand free and motions to the carnage all around them. “I can’t. There’s so much to do and-”

“Shh. A couple days. The world will go on without you until then.”

“You just don’t want me in your way.”

“It’s not like that anymore.”

Her fingers close around his, and it hits her that this is the most direct contact she’s had with another person since… no, bad thoughts, not going there, it doesn’t matter, she can’t-

“It’s at least a little like that,” she mutters, playful as she has the energy to be right now.”

“Just a little,” he replies. “But you’re no fun when you can barely stand.”

She thinks, as she tries to put weight on her bad leg and discovers with a bitter rush of pain exactly how right he is, that this might be the first time in her life that she’s voluntarily listened to him without any real desire to fight back. And she doubts it’ll be the last time either, and… she’ll deal with that horror later.

For now, being able to put most of her weight on another person feels really damn nice.

**Call Me**

For the first time in her life, she wants him.

No, that’s a damn lie. There have been _many_  times when the primary thought on her mind has been how many ridiculous places Marcus Kane could’ve wandered off to. But in all of those cases, her motivation was he’d gone and done something she didn’t approve of and she needed to undo it but first she needed to yell at him because... sometimes it just felt good, really.

Not this time, though. This time is not an emergency.

It’s a bad day in her recovery, shouldn’t be but it is, a month after her injury - she refuses to think of it in any more detailed terms - and movement is not happening. For the next couple hours, and more likely the entire day, Abby is stuck on a mattress and miserable about it.

When Jackson wanders in to check on her, she reassures her friend that she’s fine. Or at least mostly.

“Go get Marcus. Make sure he has the code for my lock if he doesn’t already.” (The fuck-you is less implied than it would’ve been six weeks ago.) “Tell him to bring the plans for rewiring the gate.”

It’s no emergency and she knows it. Minor electrical work doesn’t even require her signoff, and it could easily wait until tomorrow.

But she wants him, and she still needs excuses, so a diagram she doesn’t even understand will have to do.

**Quiet Me**

She wakes up screaming with a gentle hand on her shoulder and a blanket she doesn’t remember draping over her lower body, and it’s the strangest moment of a very strange year.

Slowly, deep breaths, Abby comes back to herself. She’s in the war room. She’s on the couch that she’s unofficially spent every non-working moment asleep on for the past week and a half. Her partner is hovering over her and looks like he might be about to cry.

“Shhh. Just a dream. You’re safe.”

She rolls her eyes, tries not to let on that his concern is so appreciated. “Did I disrupt what you were doing?”

“Not at all. Impeccable timing as always.”

Without thinking, she shifts her head and presses her lips to his hand. “Thank you.”

Someday, she decides, she’s gonna learn what the rest of his skin tastes like.


End file.
